Privilege

Into this sky which hasmore airplanesthan other skiesI look and see half a dozensmall whitenesses passinglike tired starsthrough the blue. I watch theminstead of watchingthe woman swimmingin an oversized T-shirt that clingsto her body like slime, instead ofseeing the child splashingin his inflatable sleeveswhile his parents puff onelaborate e-cigarettes.Instead of speaking,I lie back in my chair that’sturned to face the sun’s full strengthand try to become browner.In this sky, planes flylow and heavy, back andforth from the base,practicing war. I’m afraidI’m finally all rightknowing good thingsin me have died.

Elly Bookman is the recipient of the 2017 Loraine Williams Poetry Prize from The Georgia Review.